The Disturbing Charm

  CHAPTER XI

  THE FEASTING OF THE CHARM

  "There's that that would be thought upon, I trow, beside the bride. The business of the kitchen's great, For it is fit that men should eat, Nor was it there denied."

  Sir John Suckling.

  Crowded hours were to follow that quiet afternoon in the forest.

  A morning or so afterwards Olwen darted out into the hall, where she hadcaught a glimpse of the bride-to-be going past in a great hurry.

  "Miss Walsh----!"

  "Oh, Olwen," said Miss Walsh, stopping breathlessly. "Oh, I do want totalk to you, but I haven't a moment. It's the lunch today, you know, the_dejeuner intime_ for all his relations and friends. They've had thecards----"

  Olwen nodded; she had sent her "_faire part_" card home to Wales as acuriosity.

  "It's to be down in Madame Leroux's own sitting-room; she says better sothan having the party in the _salle_ after the hotel visitors have hadlunch," explained Miss Walsh, always breathless. "Oh, I feel I must godown and see if I can help her, but it is so difficult to understandwhen she will talk French so dreadfully fast----"

  "Let me come too," entreated Olwen, eyes suddenly alight. "Let me help,do! I can generally make out even her fast French."

  "Very well--if _you_ ask her!"

  Madame Leroux was talking faster French that morning than they had everheard from her before. They found her in the basement, a whole region ofthe hotel that was unknown ground to Olwen, peopled by a tribe ofworkers whose sallow faces she had never seen before, and who wereflying hither and thither on errands undreamt of on the upper floors.Even so the stoke-hole of a liner is unthought about on its polisheddecks.

  The manageress was in the _appartement_ that adjoined the kitchen, adomain smaller but pleasanter of aspect than any of the big rooms above,and more comfortable, except for one narrow space that was neitherkitchen nor _appartement_. This space between the walls seemed to be asound magnifier of the rumbling service-lift, the whistles ofspeaking-tubes, and the hissing and running of every water-pipe in theplace. The door into the huge French kitchen stood open, giving aglimpse of marmites, burnished copper pans, crocks, and five-deckercookers; of vegetables piled haystack high, of ramparts of yard-longrolls, of twenty other kinds of provisions.

  Beyond the kitchen a second door opened out into the _cour_, wherebuckets clanked, a tap splashed, and the whistling of a knife-cleaningmachine could be heard. By yet another door Marie and Rosalie werebringing in chairs collected from bedrooms, attics, landings, and anyother corner.

  "May we both come in?" Miss Walsh asked timidly.

  Madame Leroux turned.

  "Ah! Enter always, Mademoiselle. It is not to all the world that Ipermit it--but for the little demoiselle of M. the Professor, but yes,but yes----To help? But certainly, if that gives her pleasure. One wouldhave said that she would have preferred to spend the fine morning withM. le Capitaine in the forest, he with the one arm who admires heralready----" Madame's glance was as swift as the dart of a chameleon'stongue after a fly.

  She was already dressed for the day, her dark hair dragged up to the topof her head in a fist-shaped knob, secured with combs, and her frontlocks _frises_ above her mercilessly intelligent face. Over hertightly-fitted gown of black _broche_ and _passementerie_, showing a fatwhite V of neck, a velvet band and a pendant, she had passed an enormousapron of blue-and-white check.

  She was looking over her well-covered shoulder with eyes that wereeverywhere at once, and giving orders in a voice that was as shrill as awhipsaw and as quick as a mill-race.

  "Hold! Prop that door open, Rosalie, instead of bumping it each timewith the good chair, little careless one; one would say a swing!" (Shetook breath in a gasp.)

  "And those oysters from Monsieur Paul; are they not yet arrived? Do notopen them immediately, as last time; and even so, see that you open mebut half of them in order that they may keep. And thou, Marcel, take methat mat into the yard instead of brushing me the dust over thevegetables!" (Gasps.) "_Bon dieu_, one would need twenty eyes----Asfor these knives, Etienne, have you the intention to grind them topowder rather than find other work? It is then not necessary that theyserve us for another day?" (Gasp.) "My faith!... Ah, Mees Ouallshe--Agathe----but no, it is not necessary that you help. Go, go andmake yourself beautiful for after the _dejeuner_, when you are presentedto the friends. Make yourself beautiful for Pierre, who shall mount upafterwards to beg you to descend for a little half-hour, like aprincess!" (Gasp.) "_Eh bien_, if you hold to assisting me now, but notin the kitchen, no, no; if you will have the goodness to dispose on thetable within the _serviettes_ that I have already placed in a heap. Alsothe glasses; they are in those cupboards there; no, not there,Mademoiselle, here, here, here. Arrange them all precisely as inEngland, at your _chateau_, yes? It is that! It is perfect!" (Gasp.)"And the little demoiselle of the Professor shall set out the cards withthe names----But no, no, no, no, no; she does not know the names norwhere they sit. Better to place these pots of cyclamen on thewindow-sill, Mademoiselle, if you please. One would say real flowers,would one not? But two francs." (Gasp.) "Fifty! It is true! _Ah, pasca_----" seeing Agatha Walsh, entirely at a loss, picking up from thesofa-corner and unrolling a tricolor flag. "Not that. It should havebeen interlaced with the other. I was desolated, but one could notobtain in time, the Union Jacques. Flowers only, therefore. _Tiens_, Ihave not placed a cloth over the safe----"

  She spread over the iron cash-safe a cloth edged and inserted with thelovely pillow-made lace of the neighbourhood, while her nimble Frenchtongue ran ceaselessly on.

  Her niece-by-marriage-to-be, helped by Olwen, set to work with all thegood will in the world to lay the large round table. From the cupboarddrawers indicated by Madame's plump hands they brought a tablecloth, anornately embroidered table-centre, and napkins of the finest linen, allwedded to that beautiful lace; from the cupboards they took old andexquisite glass, and silver that could not have been bettered at theGrange of Miss Walsh's youth. Olwen noticed that the old-fashionedcarved bread-cradle that swung from the ceiling had already been filledwith blossomed and berried boughs of the arbutus, patron plant of theplace. She thought as Mrs. Cartwright had thought, "I shall always thinkof arbutus--and here."

  The chairs, some of them rush-bottomed, others of carved gilt, wereranged about the table; then Olwen and Agatha Walsh sped out into theyard and returned with the knives that Etienne, the boy in the greendrugget apron, had at last polished to his satisfaction.

  In the middle of the red-tiled kitchen Madame Leroux still stormed asshrilly as though she alone of all excellent housewives possessedworthless servants.

  "Is it not enough that I myself must arise at half-past four today, andit is that I must do _all_ myself, me, as well as to entertain thefriends and the relations of Monsieur, they who are eating their bloodwith jealousy because he marries himself with an English lady of thehigh nobility? And why are the boards not placed over the bowls of soup?My faith, it is then that _I_ must work, _I_ must arrange, _I_ mustplan, _I_ must have the eyes everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, whileyou let the fire die down, female idle ones who do nothing but regardwith open mouths and talk in corners and try to eat me the _glaces_fruits out of the dishes?" (Gasp for breath.) "Take you theseimmediately, Marie Claire----" she waved towards a score of trussedchickens that looked like a frieze of poultry--"and set them in thepans. And pose you those lids so that the pottage may simmer as itmust." She pointed to the vast arched fireplace with the grid runningfrom one end to the other. "_Mon Dieu_, if this boy here had as manylegs as an octopus he could not more expressly place them in my way.That he does at each moment! Is it that I have sent my own children outto receive _les amis_ even at Arcachon, to be encumbered by thee? Thechildren? They will feast out here in the yard with the children of thenotary and the little cousins; I do not wish that they are the wholetime with the grown ones when one talks----"

  And she bustled out into the _cour_ to look to the long t
restled tablethere which had been surrounded by a still further variety of chairs.

  It was here that Miss Walsh in her halting French asked where wasGustave, where was Monsieur Leroux?

  "The men?" Madame gabbled. "Ah, for that, where would they be?Invisibles, so long as there is work to be done," with a half-indulgentlaugh. "You will see also, in good time, you English ladies, that whichthe _service militaire_ does for the men! They make their service. Theyreturn. They put themselves at their ease. Behold, they are required todo nothing further for the rest of their life. It is we, Mesdemoiselles,we who are accustomed to it; we other French wives. You also, you willsee! Ah, hold, the oysters! Now, Etienne, you will dust me once againthe seats of all these chairs, I say to you, and with a dry duster, Ipray you, not a wet one; dry, dry, dry, dry, dry----"

  In this exalting hubbub did Olwen pass the whole morning with her frienduntil the sallow little Italian waiter came down to announce that_dejeuner_ was served.

  They went up. How cool and quiet, it struck them, were those upperreaches of the hotel....

  But as they were seeking their places a quick "Oh, come and look!" fromMiss Walsh brought Olwen running to the side window. "Oh, here are thepeople----"

  The procession of the French _invites_ was coming down the road from thelittle tramway terminus. It was solemnly headed by the three littlepigtailed Leroux girls, each holding by the hand another child, barefrom mid-thigh to ankle, and wearing an adaptation of the sailor suit.After them, in a broken line of twos and ones and threes, came thegrown-up people.

  First and most resplendent of them appeared the individual whom Olwenrightly guessed to be the _notaire_ from Bordeaux. He wore a whitebowler hat, a white waistcoat, and he carried in his hands, which heheld well out in front of him, a large bouquet tied with tricolourstreamers and the Union Jacques which Madame Leroux had desired, and heovershadowed even his rotund _endimanchee_ wife in her purple costumeand forward raking hat, who bobbed in his wake. She was escorted byMonsieur Leroux. Next came Monsieur Popinot, the clerk from thepassports office, all in black, but carrying Madame Popinot's pinkparasol. She, a plump and pretty little woman, carried a year-old babyin a corolla of lace.

  Then came a sister of Madame Leroux, as dark, as mercilessly intelligentas the manageress herself, talking eagerly to Pierre Tronchet, effectivein his blue and red.

  Another _artilleriste_ on leave, evidently a comrade from the regiment,walked a pace or so behind them, between two silent young girls; then atrio of stout, bearded old men gesticulating freely, then a lady inanother forward raking hat, then a party wearing deepest mourning, butwreathed in smiles, then others ... then again others.... Tronchets,Leroux, ramifications of both families, relatives, friends, and thosewhom it was intended to dazzle....

  Olwen, gazing upon this _cortege_, suppressed a wish to think aloud of arhyme of her childhood:

  "The animals went in four by four, Hurray, Hurray! The animals went in four by four And the big hippopotamus stuck in the door."

  This last line, she considered, might almost have applied to several ofthe _invites_!

  All of them, as they approached the hotel, stiffened, pulled themselvestogether as if they were going past the saluting point of a review,assumed photographically unnatural expressions, and walked delicately;then they seemed to deflate and hurry as they slipped past the corner tothe back entrance to the premises.

  "Oh, I'm not a bit hungry," sighed the agitated Miss Walsh as she turnedfrom the window and sat down next to Olwen at the long table. The_dejeuner_ was as perfectly cooked and served as if no subterraneanbanquet had been in preparation. "Oh, fancy having to be 'shown' to ahost of people! Oh, I can't help feeling almost glad that Gustave'sfather and mother aren't alive! If they had been, you know, he wouldhave had to ask their consent to marry me, even though he isthirty-eight. Oh, it is such a mercy that Madame didn't want me to sitthrough the whole of lunch."

  "Much the best plan!" agreed Mrs. Cartwright from her side of the table.

  "Oh, yes; I don't appear till they have to drink my health--oh, but I amso nervous! And do you think I look all right in this, Mrs.Cartwright?... honestly?"

  She wore an expensive new dress of prune-coloured _glace_ silk,ornamented with a kind of lace bib and with rows and rows of littlecrimson buttons that fastened nothing. Both Mrs. Cartwright and Olwenfibbed valiantly, and had their reward. The loveliest frock in Pariscould not have been more becoming to Agatha Walsh than her flush ofpleasure.

  * * * * *

  That _dejeuner_ downstairs was supposed to be _intime_ and private; butthe distant sounds of it were already becoming audible to the morepublic part of the hotel.

  First a soft but thunderous drumming as of applause upon the table-topwas heard.

  Then a skirl of laughter, the piercingness of which, near to, could onlybe guessed at.

  Then, booming fragments of a voice that rose above others just as anoccasional column of foam spouted higher than those other Biscayrollers on the reef. Then an uninterrupted booming.... Apparently aspeech was in progress.

  An involuntary and smiling silence seemed to fall upon the luncheonparties in the _salle_ above, almost as if they would have felt itimpolite to talk through what was going on below. Truly, Miss Walsh wasmaking the hotel one that day--the hotel to which she had only comebecause of that hat-pin stuck in a guide-book and pricking at random aname on a page!

  Then suddenly, the door of the _salle a manger_ opened. The blue-and-redapparition of Sergeant Tronchet stood to attention just inside it:darkly flushed, beaming, silent.

  (It may here be said that none of the visitors ever had known thisswarthy well-set-up French soldier anything but silent. All that most ofthem had ever heard of his voice had been the murmured "Madame ...Mademoiselle ... Messieurs ..." that accompanied his heel-clickingbows. Only Miss Walsh had ever had any conversation with him. But hadnot this been to some purpose?)

  "Oh, he's come to fetch me," she exclaimed now in a voice that failed."Good-bye, Olwen dear," she added, as if she never expected to come backalive. "I shall see you and Mrs. Cartwright and the Professor attea-time----you are all coming to _my_ tea, aren't you?" she finishedappealingly.

  Then she disappeared, with her peacock-proud _fiance_.

  * * * * *

  "The day has only just begun, my dear child!" declared Mrs. Cartwrightto Olwen, rising. "Come to my room and take a rest before _we_ come onin the next act. Run up, will you? I'll follow."

  Olwen ran up; glad of a breathing space.

  That party, three floors and five or six rooms away, did still dominatethe whole hotel! She was glad to lie back in Mrs. Cartwright'sbasket-chair and to draw a long breath. She had nothing to do thatafternoon, she thanked goodness....

  But Mrs. Cartwright, as soon as she came in, drew a chair up to herwriting-table and began to make notes, chuckling from time to time.

  "Tell me when the people begin to go," she begged Olwen. "I had to makean errand about the tea, and take a peep in just now, I couldn't missit.... My dear! The heat! And the din down there! Poor Miss Walsh! HowMadame crammed them all in I don't know.... And Monsieur Leroux with hisblack domino beard and his pouchy eyes, _and_ all those women exactlythe same height whether they sit down or stand up...."

  She was scribbling sketches of them all to send to her boys....

  The noise downstairs rose to sounds of confused singing--_Le Chanson desBaisers_, then fell at last.

  "I think they're all going away now," said Olwen from the balconiedwindow, and Mrs. Cartwright ran to join her and to watch thehomeward-faring procession filing by.

  First the notary, his white bowler hat a little dinted, appeared roundthe corner of the hotel. He was arm in arm with Monsieur Popinot, whostill carried his wife's pink parasol, and who seemed to have an ideaof putting it up over the pair of them as they went by the windows, butwas restrained by a gesture, suppressed but fierce, from the notary. Hispurple-
clad wife hustled the children ahead of her; the party inmourning were giggling joyously together, then assumed a gravity.

  With the same effect of pompously pulling themselves together with whichthey had passed the front of the hotel, they all repassed it now.

  Even as they turned their backs upon it, the strain was seen to relaxagain. Up went the pink parasol in the distance.

  "Ah, there; there goes Gustave's comrade the _artilleriste_," commentedMrs. Cartwright. "First at the fight--and last at the feast; yes, he'sthe last."

  The _artilleriste_ swaggered delightfully, turning to wave a farewell,and obviously caring little whether it were to the front of the hotel orthe back....

  And then, about seventy yards behind the last of these revellers therewent by two other figures.

  They were those of Captain Ross and Mr. Awdas, who had been makingthemselves scarce for the day.

  And perhaps it was because Olwen was busy with her own effort not tolook at one of them that she did not notice Mrs. Cartwright's swiftglance at the other; the flying boy.

  As if he felt that glance upon him, Jack Awdas looked up and put a handto his cap; a smile rippling all over his face.

  Olwen would not have read the purpose behind the smile.